The Final Curtain

by Gilbert, Morris

  No wonder someone is trying to kill him! Dani thought. She had heard that the man was an absolute slave driver when he worked on a play, but this went beyond decency.

  Finally, Ainsley stopped. The silence was thick, no one saying a word in defense of his or her work. Suddenly Jonathan said, “Forgive me—I’ve been too harsh.” His face softened, and he dropped his head. “If anyone’s work has been poor, it’s been mine.”

  As he continued to speak, Dani found herself feeling a flow of sympathy for Jonathan. Then she jerked herself upright. Why, the man’s acting! And he’s got me believing him! Irritated with herself for being so easily swayed, she glanced around to find that several others were falling in with Ainsley’s repentant mood. They must be terribly gullible to fall for that! she decided.

  But Ainsley seemed almost broken by his tirade and finally said, “My only excuse for such abominable behavior is that I’m worried sick about the play. It means everything to me—and I think it does to you, too—all of you.”

  He paused suddenly and looked toward Dani, saying, “I suppose, Danielle, you’re wondering why some people are in this play. We aren’t exactly one, big, happy family, are we now? Well, I’ll tell you—” He let the silence run on, drawing every eye, then stated flatly, “We’re all here for the same reason—we need success, and this play has got to bring it! I chose each of you because you’re—how do the football players say it, Ringo? Oh, yes—we’re all hungry! We’ve got this one chance, and I hate anyone who spoils it for the rest. I hate myself when I do things as I’ve just done! But to tell you the truth, I may do even worse if we don’t get some fire into this play!”

  Simon Nero interrupted, “Jonathan, you’re being unreasonable. Performances are a little rough; sure, they always are at this stage. But when the curtain goes up, I’m convinced we’ll see that ‘fire’ you keep talking about.”

  Ainsley began to speak, this time quietly. An intense look crossed his face as he began, “You all know your lines—and you are all professionals, so you read them expertly. But in this play that’s not enough. Let me try to explain the heart of this play. You know the plot, of course, but you’ve got to get deeper than that!”

  Dani was on the outer circle, a spectator rather than a participant. She tried to disassociate herself from the glamour of the world of the theater—and from the eloquence of Jonathan Ainsley. Carefully she listened as he leaned forward, his voice hushed, almost a whisper at times. “This play is about human existence. It’s about man—not man as he is, but as he can be! I can’t look at history and see that man has made great advances. We can make a bomb that can destroy half the globe—but we can’t control our appetites sufficiently to become what we should be. And what is it that man—that all of us—should be? Why, powerful, of course! Only in man is there that kind of power. Animals have only instinct, but marvelous as that is, it is a dead-end street. Bees can build a hive, but they can’t write a symphony! They have no power to create. Only man has that!”

  He paused and looked down at his hands. His face was pale, and suddenly Dani knew that no matter how theatrical and overly dramatic he seemed, this part of Jonathan Ainsley was real! She leaned forward, forgetting to watch the faces of the cast, caught up in the intensity of the man.

  “So—this play is about man. It’s a metaphor, as I’ve said. The plot is simple. A group of people have met in a mansion to settle a power struggle. A huge company is at stake—and those who are gathered long for the power that will be in the hands of whoever controls the firm. All types are there—religious people, artists, and intellectuals. But in the end, all give up whatever has been an ideal to them. They all try in one way or another to seize the power. That’s why there’s so much violence in the play—because the world is exactly like that!”

  Ainsley lifted his eyes and looked from face to face, and a faint smile touched his lips. “Perhaps you have noticed that this cast is not totally different from the characters in the play. The same struggle for power, for first place, at any cost. Don’t be shocked at that. It’s the way the world is and the way we must portray it in my play. We must dramatize this struggle for power, and we must demonstrate that man can be the victor in the bloody struggle!”

  Ainsley seemed to have exhausted himself, for his shoulders slumped and his head drooped. “Simon, take over.”

  Nero moved forward, commanding briskly, “All right, let’s take it from the beginning!”

  The cast moved into action, and Danielle took her place as prompter. She had read the script several times, and as the play progressed, she found herself wondering about Jonathan Ainsley. He had scorched the cast, but they were delivering fine performances. Whether it was because of his words or something else, she couldn’t tell.

  It was a long play, over two and a half hours, and by the end of it, Danielle was convinced they had given a great performance. She said as much to Tom Calvin while she waited for Jonathan to change and take her to the apartment she had sublet on the West Side—not much to look at, but in a city as crowded as this one it was a real find on such short notice.

  Tom stood there, his eyes fixed on her. Then a strange smile touched his lips. “A great performance, Danielle? Which one?”

  “Why—the play, Tom!”

  “The play? Well, that was better than usual. Jonathan knows how to get the most out of a cast. That’s his strength. But I thought you might have meant some of the other performances.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve already been a gossip once tonight.”

  “No, tell me,” Danielle insisted.

  “Well, aside from the Amber-Jonathan conflict, maybe you’ve heard that Lyle Jamison was suspected of murdering a woman.”

  “Why, I find that hard to believe, Tom!”

  “And the woman was Simon Nero’s wife.”

  “No!”

  “Just take a look at Simon’s eyes sometime when he’s looking at Lyle. Pure murder. He loved his wife and is convinced that Lyle did her in. I expect he’ll take a shot at Lyle sooner or later.” He gave her a sudden mirthless smile. “Or take the case of the luscious Carmen Rio. She’s been ‘close’ to Ainsley—but she’s been replaced by another member of the cast. Can you guess who?”

  Danielle thought about it. “Lily Aumont.”

  “Give the lady a cigar!” Calvin smiled. “The only problem Carmen has is deciding whom she hates the most—Jonathan or Lily.”

  Danielle was quiet for a while before asking, “Any more little skeletons, Tom?”

  “Why, only if you count Ringo Jordan—who’s got some sort of hatred bottled up in him. I think he’s likely to go off at any moment. Or take Mickey Trask—Mickey was a juvenile star, but wants to be a director. Jonathan promised him this play but gave it to Simon—so now little Mickey hates Jonathan and Simon. I might also add that Mickey had a little romance going with Lily. Now she’s Ainsley’s girl. So Mickey is miffed over that. And of course there are the Lockridges. Poor Adrian is an alcoholic, and his wife spends all her time covering up for him. Add to that that they both despise Jonathan—who delights in lording it over the old man. I guess we’re all just a happy little group, Danielle.”

  Dani asked quietly, “What about you, Tom?”

  “Me?” Calvin’s face flushed, then he forced a grin. “My father was one of Jonathan’s best friends. When Dad died, I went to pot. Drugs—the whole bit. Then I found an answer, and for some reason Jonathan despises me for it. He gave me this job just to poke fun at me.”

  “What answer did you find, Tom?”

  He stared at her, then blurted out, “Well, I became a Christian. Now you can laugh at me along with Jonathan!”

  Dani asked suddenly, “Isn’t today Saturday?”

  “Saturday?” Her question unsettled him, and he looked at her suspiciously, fearing ridicule. “Yes, it is.”

  Dani smiled and put her hand on his arm. “Then you can come by my apartment and take me to church with you tomorrow
morning.”

  He stared at her. “You’re making fun of me!”

  “Not at all.” She gave him her address. “Apartment 212,” Dani added. “Don’t forget!’” Ainsley had appeared, and before he got to them, Dani whispered, “I hate to go in late, so come early.”

  As she left with Ainsley he asked, “What was Tom mooning about?”

  “Oh, we have a date.”

  “A date? Now I’d better warn you about these city boys, Danielle. You small-town girls can get in trouble with that type!”

  “I don’t guess we can get in too much trouble, Jonathan. He’s taking me to church.”

  “Oh?” Ainsley said slowly, then shrugged. “Well, we’ll see how long your religion lasts in the Big Apple, Danielle. By the way, what’s your impression of the cast?”

  “Nothing much, Jonathan.” She shrugged as they walked out into the cold night air. “Most of them want to kill you, of course, but aside from that, they’re just one, big, happy family!”

  3

  The Phantom Strikes!

  * * *

  “I was never in a play that was ready for opening night, but this is getting ridiculous! We open in four days—and we still haven’t had a dress rehearsal!”

  Mickey Trask’s words caught Danielle as she came on stage from the left wing. Mickey had cornered Lyle Jamison and Ringo Jordan over against the right wall of the set. The Lockridges were, as usual, isolated in space, having moved as far away from the others as possible. They were wearing their costumes, and as Danielle passed by, Lady Lockridge said, “Oh, Danielle, my dress seems to pull somewhat under the left arm. Would you check it for me, please?”

  “Surely, Victoria.” As Danielle moved to her side and began to check the dress, the older woman said, “You’ve done a wonderful job with our costumes, my dear, and in only a few days.”

  Danielle smiled, saying, “With modern dress, there’s not much to do. I’d be lost if this were a Shakespearean production.”

  Sir Adrian shook his head firmly. “Don’t believe a word of that! You’re one of the efficient people in the world, Danielle, the sort who makes things work.” He smiled as she looked in his direction, adding, “I never saw anyone learn a script so rapidly. Most prompters lose their place so often that the actors have to prompt them! But you’ve got the whole bloody script learned—every line by every character! I never saw the like of it.”

  Danielle flushed under his praise, explaining, “I—I just have a good memory, Sir Adrian.” She added quickly, “We’ll have to give you more room in this dress, Lady Lockridge. I’ll take care of it after rehearsal!”

  She moved away, and Victoria said, “If everyone were as thoughtful as that young woman, this would be a pleasant experience.” Her eyes narrowed as she watched Simon Nero come down the aisle and mount the stage. “Dear, if that man raises his voice to you one more time, I’ll poison him!”

  “He’s nervous about the play, sweet. Just nerves.”

  “That gives him no right to shout at you. And Ainsley has done everything he can to upstage you. He does everything but eat the scenery to attract attention to himself!”

  “I know. He’s that kind of man. But we’ve always known what he was, Victoria. We must bear with it, I suppose.” He looked up and frowned. “Something’s wrong—look at Ainsley. He and Nero are in some sort of a dither.”

  Everyone had watched Nero come from the front of the auditorium and whisper something to Ainsley. The two of them carried on a hurried conference, with Nero waving his arms around angrily. Mickey Trask leaned over and said to Lily Aumont, “Bet I know what’s eating Nero. Amber’s not here. I’ll bet you five bucks she’s going to be late again.”

  His words were almost prophetic, for Jonathan said something to Nero in a tone so vitriolic that the director’s face grew pale. “All right, Jonathan!” he said audibly. “But we can’t go on like this. She’s blackmailing you! Can’t you see that?”

  Ainsley shook him off, then raised his voice. “We will be a little late starting tonight. Take a thirty-minute break.” He chopped his words off shortly, then left the stage, headed for the office, his face set and angry.

  “What’d I tell you?” Trask nodded with satisfaction. “Let’s go across the street and get something to drink, Lily.”

  “I don’t think so, Mickey,” the girl answered. “Bring me back a hamburger—with onions.”

  Trask gave her an angry look, but said only, “You’d better skip the onions. Lyle may not like your breath in that sizzling love scene in act two.”

  “Get the onions,” Lily ordered. Lyle Jamison was standing close by, and she gave him a tiny smile. “He won’t mind.”

  The cast broke apart, and Danielle was left alone on the stage, except for Ringo Jordan, who sat in a chair tilted against the wall, reading a newspaper. As she walked past to go to the dressing room, he said, “Hey, Danielle, you see this in today’s paper?” She paused and looked at the New York Post, and a small shock ran through her, though she showed none of it in her face.

  “No, I didn’t see it, Ringo.” It was a fairly long article in the entertainment section, with the headline: IS THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA BACK IN BUSINESS? The story dealt with the threats that Ainsley had received, and anger rose in Dani as she read the article. It was filled with quotes from Jonathan and laced with graphic descriptions of the two attempts on his life. The reporter had added his own touches, slanting the article so that it appeared that a mysterious killer was at large, stalking the famous actor Jonathan Ainsley.

  “May I borrow this, Ringo?” she asked.

  “Sure.” Jordan nodded. “Doesn’t come as too much of a shock, does it? That someone’s doing a number on Ainsley, I mean. You’re a pretty smart cookie, Danielle. I seen that right off. You think like a quarterback, always watching, seein’ what’s going on. Now me, I was a linebacker. Didn’t have to think much—just find out who’s got the ball and try to kill him.”

  “It wasn’t that easy, Ringo,” Dani said with a slight smile.

  “Sure it was. I was a degenerate, just like all the rest. Good training for being an assassin, bein’ a linebacker. When you think about it, we all talked like we was soldiers—with a blitz and stuff like that. And the name of the game is kill the guy in front of you.” Ringo’s eyes narrowed, and he gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. “Guess the guy that’s tryin’ to hang one on Ainsley is pretty tough. Calls his shots—then lets the hammer down. Course, it could all be some pipe dream—something Ainsley dreamed up.”

  “I don’t think it is,” Danielle answered.

  He studied her, his steady gray eyes expressionless, then nodded. “If you say so, lady. I guess nobody in this play would have a breakdown if Ainsley bought it. You ain’t missed that, I guess.”

  “Nobody likes to see anyone get killed, Ringo.”

  “You can’t be that innocent, kid,” Ringo said quickly. “If you are, I hate to think about what happens to you when you wake up and see the real world. Take the paper. Nothing but lies in it, anyway.”

  Danielle left and went to the dressing room, but then she made her way to the office. Anger edged her nerves, and she wanted to confront Ainsley at once. She found him in his office, staring out the window at the rain that had turned the street to silver. He took one look at her and barked, “What’s wrong, Danielle?”

  She shoved the paper at him, her voice short as she snapped, “This is what’s wrong!”

  He looked at it briefly, then shrugged. “I’ll sue that fool newspaper!”

  “You gave them this story, didn’t you, Jonathan?”

  He was not a nervous man, but the angry spark in Danielle’s greenish eyes and the aggressive slant of her body as she stood there glaring at him, took him aback. “Now, Dani, don’t get the wrong idea! This reporter is a friend of mine. We were having a few drinks—you know how it is?”

  “No, I don’t know how it is, Jonathan!” she said angrily. “What I know is that we had a very small chance
of discovering who’s been trying to kill you. Now we have none. I’m leaving. Good-bye—and thanks a lot!”

  Ainsley leaped forward and grabbed her as she wheeled and started for the door. His face was pale, and uncertainty threaded his voice as he pleaded, “Danielle—you can’t leave, not now! Look, I swear I didn’t know this was going to be in the papers. The fellow swore he wouldn’t use it—the blasted liar!” Anger swept over him, but then he shook his head and his voice softened, “Look, it’s too bad, but I’ve still got no help but you. The police aren’t going to help—not without more proof than I’ve got. . . .”

  Dani’s anger slowly drained away, leaving her disgusted with herself. She thought she’d learned to control the temper that had plagued her in adolescence, but here she was acting like a spoiled child. Now she thought, You acted like a moron! Losing your temper as if someone had stolen your Popsicle! Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “All right, Jonathan. I’m sorry I flew off the handle. It’s just that—well, I’ve been thinking about this case night and day. And come up with nothing—zero.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. There’s nothing to go on—except the notes.”

  “Not much help there.” She noted that he was still holding her, as she looked at him. “You can let me go now, Jonathan. I won’t run away.”

  He did not release his grip, but moved closer. “I don’t want to let you go, Danielle.”

  She smiled briefly. “You never want to let any woman go, do you, Jonathan?” He pulled her forward, but she turned her head away and moved back, eyeing him carefully. “I wondered when you’d make this move.”

  “You knew I’d try to kiss you, of course?”

  “Doesn’t take much of a detective to figure that out.” An impish light glinted in her eyes, and she laughed suddenly. “Poor Jonathan! You have to try to make love to me, don’t you? You don’t know any other way to approach a woman. It’s sad, really.”